Onward Bound

The numbers weren't on our side today - 1000 meters up and down.  But the trail wasn't going to weave up and down like yesterday, and we had the benefit of knowing what was coming.  We were starting from Totora, at 3600 meters, heading up to Yanama pass, at 4600 meters (around 15,000 feet) and back down to Yanama village, also at 3600.  And all this with full packs.

Speaking of which, after the first 5 minutes, my pack felt like it weighed 60 pounds instead of 30.  My legs were sore and my thighs ached with every step.  But I kept going slow and steady, never running out of breath, and I soon felt better.  Or at least, my legs got numb to the pain.  I took breaks only when nature called, and took off my pack only once, to change some layerage.  Before I knew it we were in the final stretch:

I was setting a personal altitude record with every step, and soon enough we were at the top.  It was cold and windy, so we headed down immediately, took a break for lunch, and then descended the rest of the 1000 meters down to Yanama.

Once there we procured another cheap floor and began the search for donkeys.  We were pretty beat up, and from what we'd heard a day's use of donkeys would be about half as expensive as buying a day's food from a village.  Unfortunately, at this point we were pretty much down to dollars, and it's pretty tough to pay with dollars when the nearest money-changer is 2 days away.  But the kids at the house we were staying (maybe 15 years old?) agreed to take us to Meizcal, a 4-hour walk.  20 dollars seemed pretty steep, so we negotiated to include some snacks in the deal as well.

It was looking like we might make it.  It would be really, really tough, but certainly possible.  We'll never know, though, whether we could've made it, because fate intervened that night.  David woke up with a fever, and that morning said that he felt weaker than he'd ever felt in his entire life.  From Meizcal it would be 2 tough days in either direction to get to civilization, and we didn't know where this illness was going to lead.  So we convinced the boys to take our packs to the top of the pass instead, and returned to Totora.

Despite not carrying packs, the way back seemed much harder than the first time.  We arrived in Totora midday, got in our sleeping bags and promptly slept for about 15 hours, only taking a short break to cook up some ramen for dinner.  The next day we took the road instead of the trail, encountered a bus after a couple of hours, and by nightfall were in Aguas Calientes.

The next day we took the train to Ollataytambo (yes, the train that we had taken pains to avoid the first time), and then took a colectivo to Cusco, on which a girl both drew a picture and wrote a recipe (for peanut milk) in my notebook.

Were we disappointed that we ended the trek?  For sure.  But I think to continue would've been unsafe.  And I got some of the best experiences (and pictures) of the entire trip, so I think it was still worthwhile.

Heading back to Yanama to grab my forgotten sandals, I snapped this photo, one of my favorites of the trip.

The trail back up to the pass.

Obstacles on the way.

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Shall We Stay Or Shall We Go

We woke up, had breakfast, and considered our problem: we didn't have enough money!  Of course, we had plenty in the bank, but ATMs were a distant dream now.  Between us we had about 100 soles and 20 dollars.  After the 36-sole each entry fee to Choquequirao, that left barely enough to cover our time in Totora, and nothing for any more rest days that we might need.  This wouldn't be a problem, except that the next several days looked even harder than what we just did, and we were pretty beat up.

After a couple of hours of agonizing debate, we decided that any decision was better than none, and that forward progress was surely an improvement.  So we decided to screw the entrance fee - if they didn't let us in, then oh well.  We'd had an amazing, one of a kind experience at Macchu Picchu, so our need to see a lesser known ruin was not as great.  After making the decision, everything seemed better.  David got out the guitar and we sat on the porch playing songs and watching the animals.  He taught me a bit about finger-picking, and I shot the best video I will ever take:

And as if to bless our plans, just before dinner we got a rare wet-season glimpse of Salkantay, a mountain of over 6000 meters.  We would see it only once more on the trek.  Had we known that we'd see it again, however, we might've been a little less gleeful.  For Totora was the only spot on the trek from which a view was possible at all.

The mighty mountain herself

Afterwards, we went in to say hello, and wound up watching them make dinner.  Seeing how a traditional Quechua kitchen works was one of the highlights of my entire time in Peru.  Life was centered around the fire, the focal point of food and of warmth.   Above it lay two rails, upon which were always 3 pots, for a main dish, for rice, and for tea.  Below it was a warm cavity in which the cuyes (guinea pigs) would sleep.  And after the day's cooking, they would set the next day's wood atop the coals to dry out.  When food was cut, the trimmings were dropped on the ground, for the cuyes to eat, and thus little was wasted.  Suddenly one peruvian delicacy made a lot more sense.

One last surprise awaited us that night.  As we were eating dinner, the family revealed that their little girl had her birthday tomorrow!  We gave her some chocolate, but the real birthday meal was the next day, when she was going to get an entire cuy for herself!  I didn't ask if she got to pick out which one to eat, but I sure wanted to.

Dinner that night was Lomo Saltado, one of my favorite peruvian meals.  It's sort of a stir-fry with french fries in it.  I got their recipe in my notebook, which may be my most treasured souvenir from the trip.  I'll give the recipe, but first, here's a photo and another video:

The kitchen.  Note the thatched roof for ventilation.

The cuyes in the kitchen, munching on some supplementary hay.

And now, the recipe!

Lomo Saltado (with bonus recipe for Salsa Criolle) from the village Totora:

Ingredients:

• Meat, cut into stir-fry sized strips
• Onions.  Lots of onions.  Julienned.
• Potatoes, cut into fries.  They peeled the potatoes, but seeing as I don't have a team of cuyes to eat my peels I'd probably leave them on for this application.
• Tomatoes
• Oil
• Mushrooms (or so they told me, I didn't see them used or notice them in the dish)
• Garlic Powder
• Ground Cumin
• Ground Red Pepper (I imagine cayenne would do nicely)
• Salt and Pepper

Procedure:

• Cook the potatoes in some oil (they didn't use enough to cover, but you could surely deep-fry them too).
• In another pot, cook the onions in some oil.  They cooked them for quite a long time, maybe 10 minutes.
• Add the spices to the onions and you have salsa criolle, which is a great side to lots of foods.  Especially great with papa rellena, which is another favorite of mine.  I really, really like this stuff.  Some recipes call for vinegar, but this one didn't.  I'd probably add it.
• Add a little water to the onions and stir.  I think this was to make a sauce.  It seemed like lots of water at the time, but come a-plating it didn't seem too bad.  I think it got thickened with potato starch.
• Add the potatoes and the cooked meat and you're done!

You may have noticed that I didn't say how to cook the meat.  That's because, in all the hubbub of salsa criolle, I completely missed it.  But hey, it's meat - you can figure it out.

Lluvia de Muerte

We left Aguas Calientes with high spirits.  We had just had an incredibly lucky day, spending some time alone in one of the most populated ruins in the world.  We walked the tracks back to the hydroelectric plant with a skip in our step, feeling that nothing could stop us.  When we arrived at the plant, there was one combi (small bus), in the process of leaving.  And although it was completely full, the driver stopped when he saw us coming and got out.  He yelled arriba, arriba! (up, up!) and gesticulated wildly into the air.  This could only mean one thing - we were going to ride on top of the bus.  Five minutes later, we were wedged comfortably between our backpacks and sacks of potatoes, with sweet cool air rushing by.  As our road weaved by the raging Andean river to our left, I thought to myself: this is why I came to Peru.

Upon arrival to Santa Teresa, we asked the driver if there were any colectivos (shared taxis) to our starting village of La Playa.  He said no, but that he could take us for 50 soles.  More than our normal price, but seeing as it was Christmas Eve and he'd probably have no passengers for the return journey, it seemed fair.  We agreed and, after driving us to a house where we could buy some ridiculously fresh and cheap bread (20 sandwich rolls for 4 soles, about $1.50), he proceeded to round up his entire extended family to go along for the ride.  As we left town, he turned to me and said "Para peso" ("for weight") - apparently the road was steep and he needed more traction.  Suddenly 50 soles seemed like even more of a deal.

The family appeared delighted to take the journe, and gave our Spanish a test as we headed up the valley.  They also liked us quite a bit, it seemed, seeing as they tried to hook David up with not one but two of the sisters.  An hour or so later we reached La Playa, said our goodbyes, and found somewhere we could camp for free.  After a nice dinner, we used our trekking poles and our combined knowledge of knots to set up a freestanding tarp.  It was a pretty neat structure, kept us dry that night, and I'm quite proud of it.

We fell fast asleep under our plastic shield, and, apart from a dog insistent on getting in, had a restful night under rainy skies.  We awoke to dry weather, but our luck was soon to change.  After a frustrating encounter with a store-owner who didn't seem to get the concept of toll-free phone cards, we decided to hit the trail rather than wait for a combi, which might not even run on Christmas day.

There are two routes out of La Playa - the road and the trail, on opposite sides of the river.  Choosing to take the trail was the biggest mistake we made in Peru.  The village of Totora, our destination for the day, was already about 1400 meters higher than La Playa, and the trail didn't make that any easier as it weaved continuously up and down to avoid cliffs and other obstacles, adding hundreds of meters to our climb for the day.  I recall this being the worst walking of my entire life.  It was raining, I was hungry, and our trail couldn't seem to keep itself level for more than a couple of feet.  To make matters worse, we had frequent views of the gently climbing road across the river.  When we finally did stop for lunch, though, I had what I can confidently say were the best PB&Js I have ever eaten.

David walking on probably the flatest part of the trail.  As you can see, he's wearing his rain pants with no shirt - a style that we both adopted for this day, and a very comfortable one for rainy days that are too warm for a rain jacket.  Even better would've been to wear my rain pants with no shorts underneath, which I did on every other day of the hike.

Shortly thereafter we made it to the confluence of the rivers Santa Teresa and Totora.  After crossing the river we walked up a ways until we encountered this:

I walked up to the edge and looked down, of course, and this is what I saw:

Yup.  100 feet straight down to the raging River of Death (RoD).  Looking back, we saw an alternate path, clearly very new.  Though slippery with mud and very exposed, it led up the hillside to the village of Ccolcopampa, from which we could continue the trail.  With Totora reportedly just two hours away, we headed out on what was one of the prettiest sections of the trek, with many waterfall crossings and sheer drops.  The rain even let out for us, putting a nice end to a rough trek.

Upon arrival in Totora, we found a family that would let us sleep on their floor for 2 soles, and eat meals for 8.  We decided to stay there the next day to recover, and since we didn't have enough soles on us to pay for every meal, we cooked up some ramen with tuna for the night.  After dinner we began to drink with the guys (it was Christmas after all) and found out they had a guitar.  David played a few songs, and I played Rocky Racoon (of course!) to mixed reviews.  We passed out in our sleeping bags on the floor and slept well into the morning, drifting briefly into consciousness for the call of the rooster.

Christmas Eve and Macchu Picchu

Step, inhale.  Step, exhale.  I'm hiking up a dimly lit trail at my cardivascular limit, hoping to be one of the first into Macchu Picchu today.  We awoke at 4 and started hiking at 4:30 - a late start, but we're making up for it by passing people left and right.  As usual, David is far ahead.  Step, inhale.  Step, exhale.

We arrived in Aguas Calientes (the city below the ruins) yesterday afternoon.  In order to avoid the expensive, comfortable, 3-hour train ride, we took a 9-dollar, 6-hour bus ride and two colectivos (shared taxis) to a hydroelectric plant, and then walked 2.5 hours on train tracks into town.  Saved us about 30 dollars each, and the bus ride was fastastic, riding along sheer cliffs through beautiful valleys. No pictures, though, because pictures from buses always suck.

It's 5:30, and I'm at the top.  I find David and we take a seat on the entrance stairs.  30 minutes before opening time, and there's already as many tourists waiting.  5:45, and the first busloads arrive.  10 minutes later, there are at least 200 people waiting, and we begin to wonder whether it was worth it.  But then something amazing happens.  The guards tell everybody to form a line, and we stand up to realize that nobody else had taken a seat on the stairs.  A couple minutes later, the line is fully formed, and we are miraculously, incredulously, at the head of it.

And so we wandered into Macchu Picchu alone, the only sounds our footsteps and occasional words.  Temples and terraces arose and fell out of the morning fog as we stolled on by, experiencing not the detail-obsessed, scrutinized city of a guided tour, but an unassuming, humble pueblo that passed no judgement, nor required any grand significance.  It was what it was, and nothing less.

However, although we were keeping ahead of the other tourists through our naturally fast walking, we soon realized that we weren't, in face, the only visitors.  At first we saw two dogs, chasing eachother through the ruins.  Then something resembling a squirrel, some hummingbirds, and even a snail, crawling lazily up some ancient Incan stonework.  And it was the animals that gave me a true glimpse of the ruins at their most normal, as the city they once were.  Because dogs and birds don't know that they're living in a wonder of the ancient world - to them it's a city like any other.  They go to the bathroom, try to procreate, and hope for scraps of food from these curious ape-like creatures with cameras around their necks.  And, while I enjoyed Macchu Picchu for the wonder that it is, it seemed much more real when I viewed it from a more pedestrian angle.  For this reason, the animals were one of the coolest parts of the ruins - and one of the most photogenic.  I have more pictures, but here's 3 from the day:

A squirrel-like thing in a traditional Inca-shaped window.

Our companions strolling casually along a terrace.

Well, I had to get at least one picture of myself, didn't I?

Next time, the adventurous ride from Aguas Calientes to the first village of our proposed trek.

P.S. For those reading these in real time, note that they are several days behind.  We are now in Huaraz, in the northern andes.

A New Plan

It was our first morning in Cuzco.  We had fresh minds, freshly showered bodies, and a new plan.  We would find a tarp to replace our tent, ship the rest of the tent to Lima, and go backpacking anyway.  Our route?  Take a bus and two taxis to a hydroelectric plant near Macchu Picchu, hike in on the railway tracks, and backpack several days to another ruin, Choquequirao, and eventually end up in Abancay, 5 hours northwest by bus from Cuzco.  With no time to waste, we sprang into action.  After a delicious lunch of avocado sandwiches and french fries, we set out to find a South America Explorers office to buy a topographic map.  We accomplished this easily enough, and proceeded to what proved to be the most challenging part of the entire day:  buying a tarp.

You see, in Peru, you don't go to any old hardware store and buy a tarp.  Things are much more specialized here.  In Peru, you have to go to a Plastiqueria.  Not knowing this, we asked around with little luck, until we spotted a street vendor with a tarp over his goods.  We asked him where we could buy one, and he pointed us towards Mercado San Blas.  From here on out it was tarps, tarps, everywhere, but not a piece to buy.  We asked vendor after vendor, got conflicting directions, and finally made our way to Mercado Wancha.  There, amongst a maze of sandals and fruit, we found the plastiqueria.  I imagine it as a wonderous place, full of plastics of all shapes and sizes, but all I remember is one 3x3 meter piece of beautiful blue that we got, after all of the trouble of finding it, for about $4.

Tarp in hand, we gathered together our unnecessary baggage and headed to the post office.  Our tent, my juggling balls, and my steripen (no sense carrying two water purifiers) went into a box barely large enough for the tent alone.  After cramming it all in, our very helpful attendant proceeded to wrap it with about half of a roll of packing tape:

Now that all of the time-sensitive tasks were complete, we set about some relaxation.  We found some cord for the tarp and a rain cover for my pack (which proved to be absolutely essential), had dinner, stopped by the coca shop for some tea and a rather nice conversation with the lovely polyglot who runs the place, and, on a coca-induced spree, spent an hour in an internet cafe, writing collectively 12 emails and 3 blog posts.  We went back to the hostel, cut the tarp to size, and went to bed.  Not bad for a day in which we also bought groceries and medicine, went book shopping, spent 10 minutes on a see-saw, and petted a baby alpaca:

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Our luck runs out

All good things must come to an end - even bus nirvana.  We arrived in Cuzco late, said goodbye to Shanna, and hailed a taxi, only to realize that we didn't have the poles for our tent!  We raced back to the terminal and found the bus, but they were truly gone.  It had been two buses since we last used them, so they could be anywhere in Peru by now.

Not wanting to dwell on things, we set out for the district* of San Blas to find a hostel.  But while the views were as beautiful as promised, almost none of the hostels were open that late, and those that were had jacked up prices since the Lonely Planet was published (this has proven to be a common theme).  We finally found a double room for 25 soles each, which I suppose is only about 9 USD - still more than we're used to paying though, and about half my daily budget.  We got our room and promptly hit the sack, hoping for better luck in the morning.

*District is really a strong word.  Cuzco has a small-town atmosphere and is generally pretty walkable.

Bus Nirvana

There are a lot of things for tall, lanky gringos to dislike about Peruvian buses.  Ear-splitting cumbia music, champion Peruvian bus-sleepers cranking their seats down into your knees, and inexplicably closed windows when temperatures soar (and somehow everybody else on the bus is wearing several layers).

But on the road from Arequipa to Cuzco, we found bus nirvana.  After our Jamie Fox movie had ended (entertaining despite being in spanish with spanish subtitles), and the menu had looped several times, I finally worked up the courage to walk up to the front of the bus, open up the DVD player cabinet, and turned it off.  To my surprise, the bus crew made no response - no second movie, no rush to put on music.  Silence reigned.

And then it happened.  A quechua woman stood up in the back and began to sing.  We were rolling through beautiful Andean highlands, past rivers, mountains, and herds of llamas, listening to beautiful traditional songs in a bus with 2 open windows.  Add to that our awesome new friend Shanna*, and we had truly achieved bus nirvana.

*From New Hampshire, she used to live in Cuzco and was visiting friends there.  We had a lot of great conversations, and she had some helpful advice about Peru in general.  She also said she would read the blog, so Hi Shanna!